Happiness In Reverse

The accused, Donald Maudsley, is an ordinary enough fellow as regards appearances. A little beard, rather beaky nose, fair hair tied back in a short pony tail. Of average height, or under. A melancholy man, but not unintelligent. An old Oriel man, in fact.

He has a way of telling his story in the third person, which I found rather irritating at first. It becomes evident that he suffers from dissociation of personality.

A transcript of his deposition runs as follows:

After gaining his degree, this little man, by name Donald Maudsley, went into Earth Sciences. He attended the Brazil Conference, after which he disappeared into the wilds of South America. This is the essence of his story.

From the archives

·

1910

Now you depart, and though your way may lead…

Sayyid Muhammad Abdille Hassan

·

1910

Now you depart, and though your way may lead
Through airless forests thick with hagar trees,
Through places steeped in heat, stifling and dry,
Where breath comes hard, and no fresh breeze can reach –
Yet may God place a shield of coolest air
Between your body and the assailant sun,
And in a random scorching flame of wind
That parches the painful throat, and sears the flesh
May God, in His compassion, let you find
The great-boughed tree that will protect and shade.

Read more of this excerpt...

Now you depart, and though your way may lead…

Sayyid Muhammad Abdille Hassan

Now you depart, and though your way may lead
Through airless forests thick with hagar trees,
Through places steeped in heat, stifling and dry,
Where breath comes hard, and no fresh breeze can reach –
Yet may God place a shield of coolest air
Between your body and the assailant sun,
And in a random scorching flame of wind
That parches the painful throat, and sears the flesh
May God, in His compassion, let you find
The great-boughed tree that will protect and shade.

Read more of this excerpt...

WORDS TO LIVE BY

The air is like being wanted, we say, and they nod approvingly. The air is like being pushed and pulled and yanked, punched and slapped and misunderstood and loved, we say, and the fishes sigh and touch our forearm sympathetically.

2005 ·

Short Short Stories
Dave Eggers

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